


Say You Like Me

by brokenhighways



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst and Humor, Dating, First Dates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:56:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7238206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenhighways/pseuds/brokenhighways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames has always liked Arthur. Arthur is smart. Arthur is funny. Arthur is ridiculously condescending. It just so happens that those are three traits that Eames happens to like in a prospective romantic partner. Not that it’ll ever happen with him and Arthur. Not when it’s easier to trade insults and sarcastic remarks than it is to ask Arthur out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say You Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> I dusted the cobwebs off my drafts folder and finished this after starting it in...2013? It was a fill for a prompt on the meme but I have no idea which one it was now. Either way, I hope you like the story.
> 
> Unbeta'd, sorry for any mistakes! Thank you to psychmerlin for giving this a read through!

Eames has always liked Arthur.

Arthur is smart.

Arthur is funny.

Arthur is ridiculously condescending.

It just so happens that those are three traits that Eames happens to like in a prospective romantic partner. Not that it’ll ever happen with him and Arthur. Not when it’s easier to trade insults and sarcastic remarks than it is to ask Arthur out.

“Have you actually tried asking?” Yusuf says one afternoon when Eames is waxing lyrical about how fine Arthur’s tie is looking. It’s probably good that Yusuf picks that moment to interrupt, because Eames is ready to tell Yusuf just what he would like do with Arthur’s tie - in great detail.

“No,” Eames scoffs, and he can feel himself blushing. Which is ridiculous, Eames does not blush (in normal circumstance at least).

“Why not?” Yusuf sighs in exasperation as he pipettes a blue solution into a pink one. They don’t really need Yusuf for the job they’re on, but he sticks around any way. Eames is pretty sure that one of these days Yusuf will make some fatal error and blow up whatever warehouse they’re in. He takes a step back, just in case, and brushes imaginary lint (or non-imaginary powdered chemicals – you never know) off his suit.

“What exactly are you mixing up here, mate?” Eames asks, feigning disdain in the hopes that Yusuf will be distracted.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re trying to do,” Yusuf says. “Are you afraid that he’ll say no?”

“That who will say no?” Arthur appears out of nowhere – as usual – brow furrowed in curiosity as he comes to a stop near Eames. There hasn’t been as much back-and-forth sniping and petty arguing in the jobs they’ve done together since the inception, so Eames and Arthur are at a bit of an awkward place in terms of their…relationship. Eames sometimes thinks that they’re friends, but at times it is abundantly clear that Arthur is really that bloke that Eames really likes. Arthur doesn’t make a habit of spelling out long words and pointing out of all of Eames’ spelling mistakes, which is an indicator of the change of dynamic, as weird as it sounds.

“No one,” Eames says breezily at the same time that Yusuf opens his mouth and says,

“You.” Eames glares at Yusuf, who shrugs and seemingly only then remembers to pull his scientific goggles back on. Eames would take two more steps back, but Arthur is a warm presence by his side and he doesn’t want to move just yet. Arthur frowns at the two of them and shrugs, before he looks at Eames directly.

“This is probably the least ugly shirt I’ve seen you in,” he says almost wistfully. Before Eames can even think up a response, Arthur’s gone again.

+

Eventually, Eames gets fed up of Yusuf pestering him and leaving cryptic love notes on his behalf, in Arthur’s very meticulous folders.

“Alright,” he says to Yusuf. “I’ll do it.” He looks up at where Arthur is packing up his stuff and talking to Cobb quietly. The job had gone well, they’d successfully extracted whatever the hell they’d been extracting (Yusuf had succeeded in distracting Eames’ during the job), and Cobb wasn’t yelling at anyone or trashing the place. Usually they’d disperse quickly and quietly, and cease contact with one another until the next job came around. Eames just has to make sure that he and Arthur are the last ones here, because he doesn’t need an audience thank-you-very-much.

Keeping Arthur behind is easy to do, he just hides one of his folders and watches with amusement as Arthur sighs despondently and searches for it aimlessly. Yusuf vanishes promptly after shooting Eames a lewd wink, and Cobb grunts and walks out without saying a word to anyone.

This leaves Ariadne, who’s leaning back in a chair, feet kicked up on the table, laughing at something on her iPad. After thirty minutes of her annoying, adorable giggles and Arthur pacing the building repeatedly, Eames gives up and strides over to Ariadne.

He sighs, and she smirks up at him. “Tell Yusuf that I’ll give him the details later.” She turns her iPad around and sure enough, she’s in the middle of a Skype call with Yusuf.

“So how are you going to ask him?” Ariadne asks excitedly as she finally begins to pack up her stuff. “Are you going to present him with a stolen painting? Oh wait, a watch? That you stole. Not that you’re not the kind of guy who would actually spend money on a date, but still.”

Eames glares at her.

“Gee,” she says. “Fine, I’m going, I’m going. Hey, Arthur! Your folder is over here!” She sticks her tongue out at Eames as she makes her way towards the exit. Arthur appears to collect his folder and Eames watches as he shoves it into his satchel, and shrugs his jacket on. He’s deciding on the best way to ask when Arthur stops right in front of him, eyebrow raised as he looks right at him.

“So, what are you supposed to be asking me?” Arthur says. Eames starts to respond, but then he ends up clearing his throat and licking his suddenly dry lips. Arthur’s eyes track the movement and that small observation gives Eames the boost that he needs.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asks, and his face flushes as he looks down, because it’s Arthur. Eames fully expects to look back up to find Arthur rolling his eyes right before he says Goodbye, Mr Eames, but instead Arthur looks…flattered almost.

“Uh,” Arthur says in-eloquently. “Are you asking me out?” The fact that Arthur seems to be nervous makes Eames even more nervous, so he just nods, to prevent himself from saying anything embarrassing.

“Yes, I would like to have dinner with you,” Arthur says in his usual calm, clipped tone. His face tells a completely different story, but Eames is too busy breathing a sigh of relief to focus on that.

“Great!” he practically exclaims. After telling himself to take it down a notch, he says, “I’ll call you with a time and place, yeah?”

“That’s fine,” Arthur says. “See you later, Eames.” He gives Eames a small but pleased smile, hoists his bag on his shoulder and leaves quietly.

Eames’ phone vibrates in his pocket. He gets a smiley face from Ariadne and ‘at fucking last’ from Yusuf.

Eames is disappointed in himself, really, he should have checked for bugs.

+

After spending hours (which turns into days, and possibly a couple of weeks) looking for the perfect restaurant, Eames finds it and texts the details to Arthur. It’s short notice, but Arthur doesn’t say anything so Eames turns his attention to making sure that he finds an outfit to wear that a. actually fits him and b. is a colour that isn’t harmful to Arthur’s eyes.

He spends an hour on that before giving up and calling Ariadne, who proves to be no help. Leading him to finally call in his favour with Cobb, who is even more useless than Ariadne was. Finally he calls Saito, who somehow manages to send him a personal tailor within the hour.

+

Working with dream share has taught Eames a lot of valuable lessons, the most important being, no matter how much preparation you do, things can still be screwed up pretty easily. Eames, as the forger, is used to being able to adapt quickly, so on the night of their date, he’s not feeling too nervous. He has his credit card, his back-up credit card and his back-up-back-up credit card. The directions to the restaurant are already saved in his car’s GPS system; he’s got a suit that fits, a tie that looks good.

All he has to do is hope that Arthur shows up.

+

Arthur shows up, thankfully. They’re shown to their table, they pick out their drinks and when the waiter leaves, Arthur smiles at him coyly and Eames does his best to make sure that he doesn’t accidentally dislodge the table cloth.

“I’ve heard good things about this place,” Arthur muses as he peruses the menu. He sounds rather calm and stoic but Eames can see the way his hand trembles slightly. Not that Eames can talk, his leg has been bouncing up and down steadily since they sat down, and his stomach is threatening to start a mutiny.

“I haven’t heard anything about this place,” Eames lies.

“This doesn’t surprise me,” Arthur says just as the waiter arrives and places their drinks down – some ridiculously expensive wine that Eames had just gone with, he trusted that Arthur wouldn’t lead him astray.

It takes all of three seconds for Arthur to spill his. Eames, on a good day, would probably be a prat about this, and titter manically, but this is not a good day. It’s a nerve-wracking, tension-filled and slap hazard day. So he simply looks on. It doesn’t appear to be the right the thing to do because Arthur’s face turns a violent shade of red, so much so that Eames wouldn’t be surprised if his head exploded.

Eames has always been a quick thinker. Of course quick doesn’t necessarily mean that these thoughts are rational. He picks up his own drink and deliberately spills it. He makes sure to perfect his wince for the benefit of the waiter, who’s looking on warily.

“We’re a clumsy lot, aren’t we?” Eames says to no one in particular. It seems to break the ice though, because Arthur laughs quietly. Eames makes sure to hide his smile behind the rather fancy napkins placed on the table.

Things get better after that, they order their meal and get talking about various jobs. Arthur tells him a story about how Nash once set fire to Cobb’s shoes. Eames remarks that he’d always known that there was at least one thing that Nash was good at. Halfway through the meal, Eames realises that things are only better because it’s just like all the other times they’ve been to dinner, only the difference is that they’re not on the floor of Arthur’s hotel room.

Eames is torn between rocking the boat, and letting this idle chitchat continue. Well, the second he has that thought; he knows which one he’s decided on.

“So what are your intentions with me?” he asks. Arthur’s face takes on a flustered expression, but Eames can tell that Arthur’s trying hard to recompose himself quickly.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” Arthur says coolly, but Eames can hear the note of uncertainty in his voice.

“Perhaps,” Eames says. “But I asked first.” Arthur laughs – again. If Eames was the type of person to do victory dances, he would be swivelling his hips in this instant. Alas, he doesn’t think the American public are ready for his moves.

“Well, what do you think my intentions are then?” Arthur says.

Eames doesn’t really know what his own intentions are, let alone Arthur’s. Most of his energy had gone into how to ask Arthur out without actually asking him out, which of course had probably been the issue in the first place.

“Hmm,” he draws it out, and grins at Arthur’s openly amused expression. “You’d probably agree to accompany me to dinner a few more times, to see that I’m not taking the piss, because you’re never quite sure. After that, you’d probably be open to having mind-blowingly amazing sex with me. And then, somewhere further down the line, you’d probably try to set fire to my shirts. All six of them.” Arthur nose wrinkles at that and Eames smirks.

He’s surprised, however, when Arthur bypasses the obvious rebuttal in favour of saying,

“’Probably’, Eames? I can usually rely on you for certainty.” There’s an all too satisfied look on his face when Eames merely gapes in response.

He’s momentarily saved from having to come up with a rejoinder when the waiter arrives with the bill. Eames retrieves his wallet, and selects one of his credit cards. He watches as the waiter swipes it, glancing at Arthur quickly when the waiter gives him the look. Eames doesn’t panic; it’s not the first time one of his cards has been rejected, most of them are fake after all. Arthur is busy on his mobile, which isn’t surprising. What is surprising is the fact that this is the first time he’s seen it this evening. He smiles to himself as he hands over the second card. This time, the look comes with an extra dose of wariness. Usually, Eames would be well on his way to doing a runner by now, but this is different. This is Arthur. His hands are rather clammy when he hands over the third card. He’s practically chanting a never-ending mantra of work, for God’s sake; please work, please in his head.

It works, thank goodness, but he’s still extremely embarrassed. The waiter just looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else. Quite frankly, Eames feels the same way.

“Remind me never to bank with Natwest again, darling,” Eames says.

“Don’t call me that,” Arthur says but his voice lacks any heat. “See you on our next date.”

And just like that, Arthur stands and leaves.

+

“It was a disaster,” Eames says when Yusuf and Ariadne pester him two weeks later when they’re on another job in Cairo. “A bloody disaster.”

+

Eames gives up two additional bloody disasters later – literally. He manages to accidentally graze Arthur with his penknife during a particularly nasty skirmish with an impenetrable bag of Skittles, and really, it’s astonishing how much blood a tiny nick can produce. They really should have brought their own snacks to the vastly overpriced cinema that happened to be showing some of the old classics that Arthur likes. Eames, quite surprisingly, is more of an explosion and contrived plot kind of man. It’s like a constant ‘what not to do’ manual, which can be handy when you’re dealing with halfwits like Nash.

The worst part is that Arthur remains as aloof as always, despite agreeing to come on these ventures. Yusuf and Ariadne think that it definitely signifies interest and when Eames tries to ask Cobb, he ends up picking pieces of Play-Doh out of his hair after a particular unwelcome and eventful evening spent babysitting.

“Oh, hey, did you ever get a chance to ask Arthur if he’s just stringing you along?” Cobb asks after one of their team meetings. Arthur scurries away to do research and Eames is left on Cobb duty. Something that never ends well.

Eames sighs despondently. “This is all a big joke to you, isn’t it?”

“Honestly? Yes,” Cobb agrees, with a hearty chuckle. And the sad part is that given all that happened with Mal, Eames can’t even find it in himself to get angry. It’s actually nice to see the bugger smiling for once. “But, I do think that you’re making a good effort so far. I mean, the fake credit cards weren’t your best move but…let’s just say that Arthur isn’t completely oblivious to your charm.”

After failing so badly at all of the going out and everything, Eames isn’t sure what to make of that. Quite frankly, he’s not sure that he wants to admit anything to Cobb. He and Arthur may butt heads occasionally but, they’re still as thick as thieves when the façade of being in the dream world fades. During the brief moments of normalcy that they allow themselves. So, no, Eames is not falling for this trap.

“Is he warming to the sight of my finely tailored attire, then?” he asks, grinning for effect. Cobb gives him a knowing look and arches a brow.

“You might want to make sure that you keep those in some kind of fireproof garment bag.”

+

In the end, Arthur is the one that seeks some clarity. Things haven’t been especially awkward. Or well, at least Eames doesn’t think so. Yusuf and Ariadne have been chattering away in his ear about another date but the truth is that he’s exhausted from the uncertainty. The way he feels uncomfortable and out of his own skin. The way his heart races whenever he catches Arthur’s gaze and for a brief moment, it’s just the two of them. Perhaps this has been a massive mistake, and this is just his nature. Eames, the man who can take on another form in an instant. Eames, the man who hides behind characters when he needs to hide away from the world.

Maybe the real Eames just isn’t worth it.

“Eames, that’s ridiculous,” Ariadne says. Eames practically jumps a mile in the air. He looks up and notices that the office space isn’t quite right. So much for some alone time to think in his dream.

“Really, sweetheart, you couldn’t just let me monologue in peace?” He doesn’t give her time to answer, suddenly desperate to be in the real world. To feel the ground under his feet. To go back to who he was before all of these romantic notions started floating around in his brain. Arthur, him and one big happy ending? He must be fucking bonkers.

“You know, you really need to work on not muttering to yourself when other people can hear you.” Eames doesn’t need to look up to see the amused smirk on Arthur’s face. In some ways, Arthur isn’t necessarily all that hard to read but Eames has been trying to hard that he’s been blinded almost and right now, it’s time to just – be himself.

“Maybe you should try it some time, Arthur,” he says slowly. “Instead of keeping the rest of us in the dark.” It’s not his exactly his best card to play, but hey, he can be a very convincing actor when he wants to be. Sometimes he can be a convincing person too.

Arthur walks around so that he’s in Eames’ of view. There’s a passiveness on his face that’s belied by the look in his eyes. Eames’ senses that they’re about to have one of those emotionally crippling conversations that would ordinarily make him cringe but he reasons that they can go back to playing their defined roles tomorrow. Eames as the piddling forger who’s secretly cunning and Arthur as the straight man, who’s all business.

Right now, though, it’s just them. No filter necessary. No smokescreen necessary.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Arthur confesses quietly. “And I thought we were doing this but then all of that stopped, and then things got weird and I don’t like it. Cobb seems to think the problem is on my end, so what exactly is it that I need to say things to be better.” It’s not the most sensitive way of putting it, but it’s real, and that’s all that matters. So Eames keeps his answer simple.

“I guess I need to hear you say it,” Eames admits. “Say you like me.” He must sound like some kind of pubescent sod, begging a girl to let him take her on a date, but hell, setting his fire on sleeve on their last dinner date was the point at which he cast away any embarrassment.

“If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have said yes, much less let you almost compromise us with your terrible forged credit cards,” Arthur replies, smooth as ever. “But, I admit that, maybe I just…took things for granted and didn’t…communicate as well as I should. So, yeah, Eames, I like you. And if you make me talk about my feelings again, I’ll shoot you.”

There’s no menace to his words, in fact it’s quite the contrary. Still, he plays along anyway, figuring that he’ll work on getting Arthur to open up another day.

“I’m sure you will, darling,” he replies, not caring that he sounds downright gleeful. “And for the record, I absolutely hate you.”

Arthur’s expression finally cracks at that point, morphing into a small grin that he is clearly struggling to contain. “Not as much as I hate you.”

“Hmm, that’s not what you said a few minutes ago,” Eames retorts. “I might have to get it tattooed on my forehead.”

“And I might have to let those English drug dealers know the whereabouts of the charming forger who ran away with all of their petty cash,” Arthur shoots back.

Eames clasps his chest dramatically. “That would be a true sign of love, Arthur. I’ve been meaning to teach those punks a lesson ever since. Cheap bastards were handling a bunch of counterfeit bills. I was thrown out of a Hugo Boss shop.”

Arthur raises a brow. “Now, I know that you’re lying about that. Oh, and speaking of Boss, you owe me a new suit.”

Eames sighs wearily. He wonders if there’s a vintage store nearby.

+

Three days later finds them back in their office space, planning for their next dream. The next time they go under is the real thing, not a drill or test, so they’re all on edge. Cobb is pacing furiously, Ariadne is scribbling away on her canvas and Yusuf is probably his little corner, attempting to blow things up. And Arthur? He’s sitting by his pretentious whiteboard, which is adjacent to the even more pretentious projector screen. Eames is looking forward to the two hour debriefing stage that will occur when Cobb finally stops moving about but this is always his favourite moment. Leaning against the window ledge, watching as Arthur sits there and mentally readies himself.

Sometimes Eames wonders what he’s thinking. Is he thinking about the mark, if he’s fully immersed in his in point man mode, or in a more sedate head space.

Today, though, he doesn’t have to wonder because Arthur looks up at him and gives him a small smile and Eames just knows.

He knows that Arthur’s thinking about him and that gives him a sense of fulfilment, or purpose – whatever, he’s not good at describing theses thing. All he knows is that the job could go belly up and he wouldn’t care because at least Arthur is finally his, and he’s always been Arthur’s.

Fin.


End file.
